


The Hunger

by drowsyfantasy



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowsyfantasy/pseuds/drowsyfantasy
Summary: What's eating the people of Silvermoon?





	1. white on white

Sunlight reflected off the body’s pale, upturned face. Her beauty in life had been exquisite, clearly a woman of noble birth and power. Her eyes, glassy, stared up at the mid-morning sky, the rest of her body in a crumpled heap on the ground. Her entire form was immaculate, but for her neck, which had been torn open so badly that the first guard on the scene had vomited in disgust.

She was surrounded now by guards, and one of them had gone to fetch the regent-lord himself. Lor’themar Theron stood about a foot away, flanked by Halduron, who was angrily arguing with another guard.

“That’s the third body this week.” he was saying. “Can’t we do something about this? There must be some sort of wild animals roaming the streets at night.”

“Ranger-General, we’ve already doubled our patrols,” the captain of the guard was saying. “We’ve swept the streets and closed the gates at night, posted double at lower points. There’s nothing getting in or out of this city that we’re not aware of, not on two or four legs anyway.”

“Well, unless you’re suggesting we’re being attacked by an angry dragonhawk, come up with a better solution. I’m counting on you.” Halduron laid a hand on his sword. “I’ll be joining the patrols, myself, to make sure we get better coverage.”

Lor’themar glanced at his friend. He’d been made aware of the killings only now. “Any reason you kept this from me, old friend?”

“To be honest, I didn’t want people to panic.” Halduron knelt down and touched the body. It was cold, lifeless, still. And so, _so_ very pale, as though it had been emptied of everything that gave it life. “It’s a horrific way to die, and I’ve got no idea what’s happening. There’s no pattern to the deaths, only that they happen at night, and in areas of town where no one is liable to spot you - dark alleyways, shortcuts, behind tall buildings in shadow.”

“It’s not some sort of organized crime is it?”

Halduron held up a coin purse that had been in the lady’s pocket. “No. And it’s not sexual crimes either, all three victims have been of different ages and sexes - and completely untouched. No, this is some sort of...revenge-killing I think. It’s too brutal to be an assassin. Those would be clean, at least.”

“I see your point. A connection between the victims?”

“Not one that we’ve been able to find.” Halduron shook his head, then stood back up again. “I don’t recognize her, but we’ll know if someone reports her missing soon. I have all ears on guard for that.” his own twitched as he looked back at Lor’themar. “I don’t like it; I’ve never been one for clean-up duty but this feels like it.”

“Maybe it’s a trained animal,” Lor’themar pointed out. “Someone unleashing their trained pet during a midnight walk.”

“If that were the case, wouldn’t there be some other markings on the body? Look, it’s as though she knew him, and let her attacker get close.” He held up a limp hand. “No sign of scratching or tearing. She didn’t fight back.”

“Her clothes are all there, too, nothing ripped to suggest an animal jumping up on her. What if it _is_ a flying creature?”

“Mm-mm. I still doubt that she’d see something this big coming - something big enough to rip her neck open - and not fight back. Still, she’s fresh enough to check for potions or poisons. Perhaps she was drugged, and then attacked.”

“It just seems so…” Lor’themar covered his face delicately with his hand as the smell began to waft upwards. He took a step back. She had not yet begun to rot with the heat of the day, but it was still unpleasant. The fresh kill by his own hand had no smell but blood. This one didn’t even smell like that…

“E-excuse me.” a timid voice called from somewhere. Both Halduron and Lor’themar looked around, but spotted nothing and no-one. “Excuse me!” the voice came again, and both of them looked up. A broken, boarded-up window had a delicate hand sticking out of it. “Is there someone down there?”

“Yes, though you probably don’t want to look down.” Halduron called up. “It’s not a pleasant sight.”

“But I think I really ought to,” the voice replied, though it wavered with doubt. “You see, I...I was sleeping here last night. I don’t have a home, and this place...it was easy to get into.”

The boards moved, and a small face poked out of it. A street urchin, still a child, with unkempt sandy hair and a broken nose glanced down at them. Lor’themar narrowed his eyes.

“I saw the man wh’dunnit,” the boy? Girl? It was impossible to tell at this age, called down, “I’ll tell you all I saw, if you promise not to ‘rest me.”

“Hoh, come down here, and tell us what you know, and I’ll give you a gold piece.” Lor’themar dug his hand in his pocket, and the little creature considered, then scampered out. He was just skinny enough to fit through the window, and shimmied down a broken set of lattice-work to the ground.

Taking the coin from Lor’themar’s hand, he bit it, inspected it, then frowned at the body on the ground. “Was a tall man, but not too tall. He had a huge mass of long blond hair, looked like a lion to me.”

“Oh that’s helpful.” Halduron grumbled. “He’s just described every man in Silvermoon.”

“Hush.” Lor’themar scolded his friend. “Continue, my boy.”

“He had black and red robes on, I noticed them cos they were so dirty.” the boy was playing with his own hands. One of his ears looked like it had a chunk bitten out of it. Probably from a guard dog, or a tussle with another youth. “Looked like he’d climbed right out of the ground, even dirtier than me! All he did was look at her, and he called to her, ‘come here’, he said, and she came right like that, right up into the alley. She sort of sighed, and stood there, and then he...he bit her.”

“Bit her?”

“Right there, in her neck.” the boy was pale again, a bit shaky. Lor’themar put his hand reassuringly on the boy’s shoulder and he flinched. “His teeth weren’t normal, like yours or mine. His fangs was _massive_ , like a lynx’s. He just bit her, and they stayed like that for a moment or two, and then he pulled away and dropped her. She fell like that, and he didn’t even clean up, just walked off that way,” he gestured to the far wall, “blood all over his face like it was smeared lipstick. I didn’t see where he’d left,” the boy apologized, “I was so scared, I hid in the room up there until I fell asleep.”

“An interesting way to murder someone,” Halduron mused, rubbing his chin, “but not ultimately helpful.”

“He didn’t see me, I don’t think.” the boy looked up at Lor’themar. “Can I go now?”

“Yes, go on. Buy yourself some breakfast.” the boy shot off, sprinting away like a scalded cat. The two adults exchanged looks, and then began walking back to Sunfury Spire.

“We know who, or at least, what’s killing them,” Halduron suggested, “but _why_ still remains to be seen. If I can’t find a connection between the victims, the boy’s helpful testimony won’t be of much use.”

“A tall man, covered in dirt, attacking his victims at the neck and finding corpses drained of all blood. The crimes only happen at night.” Lor’themar mused, feeling something inside him twist. “Halduron. Entertain a silly old man for a moment. What does that sound like to you, if you were a child, who didn’t know any better, and had only heard old stories?”

“I’d say some sort of night creature.”

“I mean be specific.”

“All right,” he sighed, “it sounds like a vampire. But vampires…”

“Well, the san’layn are real. We’d know if we were hosting one of them, surely.”

“A true vampire then? A re-animated corpse, not unlike the Forsaken, but one in need of blood to fuel himself?” Halduron shook his head. “Surely you’re joking, old friend.”

“I’m going to the library,” he gestured, “you’re welcome to join me.”

“I have paperwork to do.” Halduron smiled kindly at him, and for a moment, Lor’themar saw the youthful gleam in his eye that used to be there. Now, though, his friend seemed aged by the work to be done. He supposed that he looked that way too. “I’ll see you later.”

They departed. Lor’themar headed into the grand library, passing the front departments and going into the back. There were old books there, volumes that spoke of ancient, dark evils. Old gods. Devils. Demons. _Vampires_ , he thought to himself, pulling a dusty tome a shelf. He blew to get rid of the layer, then found a table and opened the book, pulling a hanging mage-light a little closer to the page.

It was enough. The more he read, the more he felt sick to his stomach. All the hallmarks were there. Vampires had to hide from the sun; some required dirt in their coffins, or even slept straight underground. A hypnotic voice or gaze, to silence and lure his victim. Teeth to sever the arteries and veins in the neck and leave a corpse bloodless. _It was enough_.

“And how does one kill them?” he murmured to himself, turning the pages and searching for answers. Sunlight. Garlic. Silver. Blessed items, holy things, anything touched by the Light. Decapitation, it seemed, was the final death for these creatures, or immolation. He began to copy the instructions onto a small piece of parchment, knowing he couldn’t remove the book from the library, not even with his rank - especially if there really _was_ a vampire loose. And he also knew that if it were true, he couldn’t let on, or there really _would_ be panic in the streets. An immortal creature, feeding on his helpless populace at-will...it made his blood boil. Lor’themar felt cold anger settle in his heart as he set the book back in its place on the shelf (being the only one of its kind on the disused shelf made it a simple matter of where to put it), and made for the safety of Sunfury Spire.

He had plans to share.


	2. red velvet lines

“Warchief Hellscream.”

Late was the hour as Lor’themar dipped his pen in ink and continued down the page, murmuring out loud as he wrote his letter. “It is not lightly do I reach out to you this way. For a fortnight we have been plagued with murders of a most unholy kind. The bodies are piling up and we have no manner of combating this threat. Please, heed our call, send us aide. We would require perhaps a hundred soldiers, as extra guards for our city, to relieve our tired citizens and make them feel safe while we hunt down this monster.”

The Regent-Lord glanced out his window. Dusk had fallen and as such, the protesters had all fled away home. There was still evidence of their being here - a torch, now burnt out, laying on the fountain in the square. The guards had merely prevented them from doing anything rash, but they hadn’t done much other than shout scorn and demand to know why they were still being attacked at night. Halduron had insisted that they hide their supernatural suspicions from the general public, that it would drive them into a frenzy if they knew.

Lor’themar sighed and returned to his letter, rubbing his forehead and closing his good eye, concentrating for a moment before continuing. “I have sent you several letters already and they have all gone unanswered. Please,” he stopped mid-sentence and grunted as he heard a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he called.

It was Rommath, who slipped inside elegantly and shut the door behind him. “Are you writing to the Warchief again?”

“Yes; is it all I do these days that you know?”

“No. You have ink on your face.” Rommath gestured, and Lor’themar’s eye shot open as he scrambled for a pocket-mirror and looked at himself. Sure enough, there was a black smudge on his cheek. Cursing, he daubed at it with a cloth. He could hear the mage chuckling as he walked closer.

“This is the fourth letter I’ll send.” Lor’themar shook his head. “I don’t know if he’s not getting them, or if he’s ignoring me…”

“We could find out. I have a free moment this evening. We should go to Orgrimmar and discuss the matter in person.” Rommath perched on the edge of his desk, and Lor’themar gave up rubbing at his face to look up at him. Quick as a flash, the mage had extended his hand, pressing his thumb to the underside of Lor’themar’s cheekbone, wiping delicately. His fingers felt warm to the touch, and the Regent-Lord sighed a little, letting his eye fall shut. “Come. You’re exhausted from these long days and nights. You aren’t getting enough sleep. You look a dreadful sight. I’m sure the Warchief will take pity on you, you look so pathetic.”

“You are not helping matters, my love,” Lor’themar grunted, opening his eye and glaring up at Rommath thinly. “I cannot afford to look weak in front of a warrior.”

“Because he’ll laugh at you?”

“Because he’ll devour me whole.”

“Then you’ll be no worse the wear than you are now, considering you’re already in over your head.” Rommath chided him, taking his hand away. He moved down, taking Lor’themar’s hands and turning them over. “Hmmf. Still inky. Go and wash up. I’ll give you ten minutes, then meet me in the main hall. We’re _going_ to see the Warchief.”

“May I remind you that _I_ am Regent-Lord, and you are not?” Lor’themar remarked, even as he stood up.

Rommath smiled with narrowed eyes. “May I remind the Regent-Lord of whose name he calls in bed every night?”

He turned his back on the Grand Magister, even as he felt his cheeks burn at the call out. He said nothing as he stalked off into his private bath and quickly began to refresh himself.

When Lor’themar emerged ten minutes later and met up with Rommath outside, they were both immaculate once more. He’d changed his eyepatch and overcoat, sliding into some clean boots as well, and a fresh-pressed shirt. He’d even taken the time to re-do his hair, albeit quickly. Magic helped.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.”

Rommath cast the portal spell and the familiar colours of Orgrimmar came through the shimmering oval. They stepped through into the noise and heat of the city after dark, and made their way up to the Hold.

No guards stopped them, though a set of Orc and Tauren captains of the guard seemed surprise to see them.

“Shall I announce you?” the Tauren inquired.

“No need. He should be expecting us,” Rommath deadpanned. “After three unanswered letters. He’s here, I presume?”

“Yes…”

Rommath waited not a moment more, and Lor’themar felt almost embarrassed as his lover pushed through and marched into the room. He scurried to get ahead, trying to seem more professional than he felt right now, off-balance.

Hellscream seemed surprised to see them. He looked up from the table he was standing at, a few advisors at his sides. “Theron,” he spoke.

“Warchief.” Lor’themar took a moment to bow, though he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Rommath was not doing the same. He pressed on. “I’m here for the matter I spoke of in my letters.”

“Ah. Then you know by my response that I am unable to provide you with such a thing.” He looked back down at his table again, already starting to speak to the orc beside him.

Three strides and he was across the room, one hand on the table. “Warchief,” Lor’themar felt the anger rising inside him at being ignored in front of a room full of people, “these are your people as well, and we do not have the numbers to -”

“Forgive me, _Regent-Lord_ ,” Hellscream snorted, looking up at him again, “but we have more pressing matters than a single murderer on the loose in Quel’Thalas. You have a small city. Deal with it yourselves. I have a war to win.”

“We have tried, Warchief, and we need more men,” Lor’themar insisted. “My soldiers are exhausted by long shifts, and cannot patrol the entire city for twenty-four hours a day. They must rest, they must have replacements.”

“Then replace them. Have the citizens take up arms to defend their own city. Now, if you will not remove yourself from my chambers, I will have you removed,” Hellscream deadpanned, then turned his back on Lor’themar.

The symbolism was enough to make him seize with fury, but a stony hand from Rommath on his bicep made him pull back and away, and his Grand Magister gave him a look that said _not now_.

“We will take our leave, Warchief. May you win the war you chase so wholly,” he said in light tones, and then followed Rommath to the door. They left, and he had to lean against a wall for a moment, dizzy with anger and frustration. A wave of tiredness flooded over him again.

“We might try Undercity,” Rommath said quietly. His voice was tight.

“I don’t like the Forsaken crawling my woods in the Ghostlands, I _don’t_ want them in my city proper -”

“We’re not inviting them to bring plague vats, we just want bodies on the march,” Rommath soothed him. After a moment, Lor’themar sighed and hung his head.

“I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? Very well.”

Rommath began to cast the portal to Undercity, and Lor’themar was grateful the smell would not hit them until they passed through.

He held his breath all the way down to Sylvanas’ chambers, where the Dark Lady was quietly sitting by herself. One of the nearby rangers was polishing a bow.

“Regent-Lord,” she greeted him, turning her full attention to the pair of elves who had approached her. “What brings you down here?”

“A matter of some urgency.” He described the situation, and even suggested that it might have supernatural origins. Considering everything she’d been through, she would hopefully understand.

Her face clouded; her response was immediate. “No,” she said, quietly. “No, I won’t do it.”

“I...I beg your pardon?”

“I understand your position, believe me, I do,” Sylvanas remarked, “but I can’t. I can’t spare any more of my citizens. Those in the Ghostlands are posted there, I can’t move them, and I can’t give you anyone here. The Forsaken can’t reproduce; every one of my people are irreplaceable.”

“So are mine,” Lor’themar bit off in irritation, “and Sylvanas, _we_ are your people!”

“Lor’themar.” She looked him in the eye, and for the first time in a long time, Lor’themar felt as though Sylvanas were telling him the whole truth. She looked...sad. “I’m sorry.”

The breath left his body in a deep shudder. “I...I understand.” He looked down. “We shall...we will make do, I suppose. However we can. Thank you for granting me an audience.”

Sylvanas approached him, opening her mouth as if she wanted to speak again, but then closed it, and nodded respectfully. “Be safe.”

It was with heavy hearts that Lor’themar and Rommath stepped through the portal back into Silvermoon, exchanging glances.

“What are we going to do?” Lor’themar asked.

Just as he was about to respond, Rommath’s head jerked around. “Someone’s in your chambers,” he hissed, and both of them darted to the door. Lor’themar drew his sword, and Rommath stood at the ready, magic crackling around his arms.

“I left this door locked.” Lor’themar stepped inside, eye adjusting to the dim light of the darkened chamber. “Who’s in here? Show yourself.”

Rommath let out a low curse as the figure stepped into the moonlight streaming through the half-open window.

It was Halduron, tall and blonde and pale, paler than normal. His eyes were no longer green but dark red, almost like those of the Dark Lady, and when he opened his mouth, Lor’themar’s aching body almost gave out entirely at what glinted there.

“We found him,” Halduron whispered hoarsely, through a mouth full of daggers, “or rather... _he_ found _me._ ”


	3. the black box

“What happened to you?”

It was silent, breathless, fearful in that room for a long moment. Halduron finally sat, and Rommath and Lor’themar followed him. Lor’themar felt sick.

“I was separated from my patrol,” Halduron explained, “and when I came to, I had blood in my mouth. His blood. I remember...only vaguely.” He shook his head, putting a hand to his temple. “I think he hid his face. His voice seemed so familiar, somehow. But in any case, I woke up like this. I think I’m…” He inspected himself, “I think I’m _like him_ now.”

“The book I found mentioned that vampires can spread themselves through tainted blood.” Lor’themar put his fingers to his lips. “So that’s...we have not one vampire now, but two. At minimum, that we know about.” He glanced at Rommath uneasily, then back to Halduron.

“Is there some way to reverse it?” Rommath was watching him.

“Not to my knowledge. I spent most of yesterday reading that book cover to cover, making so many notes...” He rubbed his face. Lor’themar’s whole body ached as he considered the nightmarish possibilities before him. “It seems that, once spread, the damage cannot be undone, by the Light or by any other healing means.”

“Perhaps it can be managed?” Halduron offered. “In fact, I feel better than I ever have before. I can see better, feel stronger...I can hear your hearts beating.” His voice took on a defeated tone, and he buried his face in his hands. “If it comes to that, do not let me hurt anyone.”

“We will do what we must. But night is properly set on us, and we need to continue looking for the vampire.” Lor’themar glanced at the tower clock. It wasn’t quite two in the morning. “If you feel like you can manage, hunt with us tonight and we will try to use your better skills to locate this demon before he strikes again.”

Halduron seemed to brighten at this, standing up and nodding. The three of them were close for a moment, standing in a circle. Lor’themar put his hands on Halduron’s cheeks, felt the cold, smooth skin. “You have no heartbeat.” He stated.

“No,” Halduron replied, “I don’t.”

“He’s like ice.” Rommath had trailed a finger to the bloodied wound on Halduron’s throat. He fussed for a moment, tugging the Ranger-General’s collar up a bit higher, hiding it from plain view.

“What, against your fire, Grand Magister?” Halduron joked, but stopped as Lor’themar pulled on his lower lip with a thumb. Halduron drew his lips back, letting both men see the fangs in his powerful jaws. He met Lor’themar’s gaze with sad eyes.

Lor’themar pulled Halduron close, and Halduron let him, pressing his frigid, pale face against the heat of his breast.

“As of this moment, you are still my Ranger-General and my friend.” Lor’themar cupped the back of Halduron’s head. The other elf was trembling. “I will see this through to the end. Are you with me?”

“I am with you.” Came the muffled reply, and then Halduron pulled away, and Rommath clasped his arms. He was less overly affectionate, but no less sincere, as they renewed their bonds. And then they were on their way, hands on their weapons, or in Rommath’s case, crackling with arcane power, as they made their way onto the streets to patrol.

It didn’t take long, however, for the three of them to realize something was wrong. As the night wore on, Halduron became irritable, snapping responses or sometimes ignoring them entirely. He began to stumble, and finally, Lor’themar told them they had to stop.

“You look as though you’re about to collapse.” He put a hand on Halduron’s shoulder, and nearly got snapped at for his troubles.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Halduron was shaking badly, pale as a ghost. Paler even than the Forsaken. He pressed trembling hands to his face, then slid around his waist, as though he were embracing himself. “I can’t stop it. I can’t stop this endless, mindless hunger.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he looked up, half-bent over. “Lor’themar, old friend, I’m so sorry. So very sorry. I need you to stop me.”

“Perhaps I can give you some…” Lor’themar looked around to make sure they were alone, then back at Halduron, who shook his head sadly.

“Even if you let me drink your blood and I didn’t take it all, I would always need more.” Halduron whispered. “Before you returned, I read your notes as well. They didn’t paint a very optimistic future for me.”

“So be it, then.” Lor’themar braced himself, drawing his sword, steeling his nerves. “Do you have any final requests?”

“Don’t tell Vereesa.” He rose to his full height, straightening up, putting his hand on the hilt of his weapon. “If she still sees me as her friend the way we always did, it would break her heart.”

“You died in battle, old friend, on your feet, against a foe who endangered us all. And you helped save our people one last time.” Lor’themar promised him.

He took a step. Then another, then another, and raised his sword high. He did not close his eye, watching as the blade flashed in the moonlight.

Halduron’s body crumpled to the ground. His head bounced once, then rolled a little. Only a thin amount of blood leaked onto the pavement, the colour of old mud.

“Burn what’s left.” Lor’themar remarked quietly.

“Are you -”

“Burn it,” Lor’themar said as he turned swiftly, ordering him as he cleaned his blade on a piece of scrap cloth kept for that purpose, “so that none find this tainted blood.”

“As you say.” Rommath raised his hands, twisted his wrists, and a firestorm erupted from within Halduron’s decapitated body. The head went last, the grinning skull showing after the hair and flesh had been scorched away.

They watched it burn until it was nothing but ashes.

“This can spread. Like a virus, it can spread.” Lor’themar was trembling slightly, and Rommath came to him, and they embraced. It took several deep breaths to get himself back on track. “No more. In the morning, I need to make an announcement. I will put a curfew out until this is taken care of.”

“A curfew? What good will that do, if this monster can lure people by siren techniques?”

“We gather everyone in a handful of public buildings.” He glanced up. “The library, the mages’ guild, the bank. Three or four buildings that are well-protected by guards while the rest patrol.”

Both of them began walking back to Sunfury Spire. “I need to sleep,” Lor’themar lamented, rubbing his forehead. His eyepatch was beginning to cut into his skin again. “I haven’t slept properly in four days.”

“Then you should rest,” Rommath confirmed. “Help me write out your plans and I’ll work with the coordination after you make the announcement in the morning. Then you can sleep. As long as this thing is out in the wild, perhaps we should become as nocturnal as he is.”

Lor’themar snorted. “You have a point. Rest during the day, and become more vigilant at night. They will find out one way or another...I’m surprised I haven’t heard of any rumors spreading yet.”

Upon arrival at the Spire, the both of them settled in his offices. Lor’themar sleepily began explaining and working things out, planning, and Rommath took notes as well as argued and corrected his mistakes. By dawn they had not only a breakdown of plans, but also an official statement. Rather than give it himself, though, Lor’themar had entrusted it to Rommath to give it out, because he was so drained he could barely keep his eye open. The emotional turmoil - he had not given himself a second to grieve the loss of his friend - combined with sheer effort of keeping himself awake for so long had driven him to snoring, splayed out ungracefully on one of his couches.

Rommath tucked him in before going to deliver the message.

He was awoken hours later, with the sun low in the sky.

“I brought you some breakfast.” Rommath chuckled as they settled, eating in his office in the Spire. The Grand Magister explained what had taken place over the course of the day - with more answers, and plans, the people of Silvermoon had started to very quickly move. Most of them were packing their bags for a temporary stay. Children were thrilled to camp out in the library overnight for a few days - for surely, if they didn’t catch the vampire, he would be starved out by then.

“And the guard patrols have come in from Eversong, leaving only the normal patrols in the Ghostlands. We’ve also had volunteers come forward, and they’ll go with experienced groups in order to prevent anyone from getting hurt.”

“Excellent.” Lor’themar sagged with relief, then winced. “You always manage to look so proper, even after days of stress.”

“I bother to wash properly, my love, something you’ve neglected for a few days,” Rommath pointed out. “Have a proper bath. I’ll be here for a while longer, then we can check in through portals to each safe house before we head out on patrol. I’m assuming you want to continue with that?”

“I do.” Lor’themar scrubbed at his face with his hands, nodding. He headed straight for his bath chamber and nearly cried with relief as he peeled off his disgusting clothes. “I should burn these…” he mused to himself, and was suddenly hit with an image of Halduron’s immolated body.

Tears rolled down his cheek as he stumbled into the tub, turning on the water as hot as it could go, and scrubbing himself down. The noise of the waterfall-like shower helped silence the noise of his sobs.

It was nightfall as Rommath and Lor’themar made their way to each place by portal. Grateful, tired citizens greeted him, and he reassured them that they would not be confined by night for long. Many were sleeping, but a little girl offered him a cookie from her bag. He took it and patted her shoulder. She seemed proud.

“Shall we go with different groups?” Lor’themar suggested as they inspected the soldiers coming in for their relief shift.

“If you think it best. One of us is strong enough,” Rommath suggested, but his eyes told a different story. Still he pressed on. “I’ll see you in the morning, then, back at the Spire.”

“Take care.” Lor’themar selected a group of three seasoned soldiers with a handful of volunteers. They began their patrol around the square, as the other squads headed out in different directions. Their job was more of protection, of making sure no one came into the library without them knowing about it. Two of the civilian volunteers were telling riddles, and everyone joined in with trying to figure things out. Lor’themar found himself amused, and enjoyed the time spent, even through the dark hours of the quiet night. Rommath had been telling the truth; after a hot bath and a good meal, he’d felt completely refreshed and restored.

Despite the bloody crimes of the past week, he felt almost jovial as they returned to the library at dawn. People were starting to depart for the day, going back to work. A handful of them asked to stay, to sleep there, and the library staff had already set up more cots for them. Lor’themar made personal apologies to anyone who was still upset, but felt good on his way back. He even stopped at the market to pick up some fresh goods as the stalls began to set up. Clearly the importers were still working, if the goblins coming in and out of portals were any indication.

He bit into an apple, enjoying the crunch as he strode through the square, the sun on his face a warm promise. From the way people were talking, not a single body had been found. The vampire would be starved within a few days, then they could reopen the city, he’d have a proper funeral for his friend, they could start to clean up, and then -

The door to his chambers was locked. While this was not a strange occurrence, he could not remember locking it when he left. After all, with the city on lockdown during the night, no one would be coming in here. And the guards at the front had reported no break-ins.

Puzzled, he unlocked the door and pushed inside. The darkness hit him and he frowned, pausing to let his eye adjust to the light.

“Close the door.” a harsh whisper came from the darkened chamber. He obeyed slowly, looking around in the gloom.

“Who’s in here?” he inquired, wary all of a sudden that the vampire could be hiding here. How that was possible, he didn’t know, but it could be. He drew his sword in a flash, growling. “I’ll run you through!”

“Not now, my love.” Rommath cast a tiny mage-light in his palm, a little blue light in the darkness.

The blue light made him look like he’d been smeared with ink. A thick dark stain around his mouth and down his front made Lor’themar drop his sword to the floor. He didn’t hear the noise it made, only the strangled cry from his own throat as he lurched forward, reaching for his lover.

“ _NO!”_


	4. alone in a darkened room

“No, no, no, no, it can’t be, please say it’s not—this can’t—oh, Rommath…” Lor’themar staggered, and his lover swooped in to catch him, folding him in icy arms that were so unlike his naturally warm temperature. The Regent-Lord shivered. “Not you too, anyone but you…” 

“Now that’s just selfish of you,” Rommath quipped, but his voice was thin, reedy, shaking. Both of them were trembling. “Wishing this curse on ‘anyone but me’...” 

“Forgive an old fool.” Lor’themar smiled weakly, trying to regain his balance. He felt sick to his stomach. Rommath was still sticky with blood, he had to get it away, had to — but what was the point? What was the point of  _ any  _ of this now, Rommath was - 

“I beg of you,” Rommath’s voice broke. “Please. Please don’t kill me. I will do  _ anything  _ to make this work, to live a little longer, with you.” 

“Yes, of course.” Lor’themar’s body burned with shame that he would go this far with a lover and not with his friend. “Anything. We’ll get you blood already drained. Criminals. Alliance spies! Trespassers! Something. Anything.” 

Rommath hugged him, held him, and both of them were too shaky to keep standing. They sank to the floor, and Lor’themar started tugging uselessly at the bloodsoaked robes. “Here, come on, get these off, you look a mess…” 

“Right, right…” The Grand Magister began taking off his robes, and Lor’themar groped around in the dim light for his sword. He found it, and, grabbing a glass off the table, cut the inside of his arm. Hot blood dripped from the superficial wound into the container, and after a moment, Lor’themar pressed the ruined robes to it to staunch the flow and help it heal. “Go on, have a bit, see how it works.” 

Rommath didn’t need to be told twice. He’d been staring at it ever since Lor’themar had sliced his flesh. With shaking hands he raised it to his lips and had drained the glass in three inelegant gulping swallows. 

He didn’t know what had hit him until he was on his back staring at the ceiling, but the mouth on his was familiar, even if it had the taste of blood in it. 

For a moment, Lor’themar panicked, before realizing that his own blood was unlikely to turn him. Rommath had been driven into some sort of bloodlust, frenzied, animalistic as he ripped Lor’themar’s clothing off of him. Shredded was more the proper word here, and Rommath’s long nails raking into his skin made him hiss in pain and pleasure. 

He was delirious as they wound themselves together on the floor, turned on beyond belief, just the two of them grinding on each other, Lor’themar’s dripping cock trapped under Rommath’s taut belly and hip. 

“Wait, wait,” he was gasping, “wait, Rommath, wait, it’s— oh, don’t do that yet—” He was moaning, arching up underneath as Rommath rode him hard, not impaled but still desperate, trying to think of something to use as lubricant. He didn’t have any in these chambers. Rommath, however, didn’t seem content to wait for him to think of something, and he hissed as his lover worked his cock in a hot, sloppy, sticky blowjob, temporary, less than thirty seconds before he was being ridden. 

It hurt. It was almost dry, but the intensity of the moment wouldn’t let him stop. Rommath was moaning above him, hands on his biceps, rocking his hips like his life depended on making Lor’themar come inside him as quickly as possible. They shared a series of brutal, passionate, messy kisses, Rommath’s mouth tasting only of saliva now, dizzy with desire. 

He wasn’t aware of his own orgasm, only raw pleasure when it stopped hurting so much, and passed out on the floor, with Rommath still on top of him. 

_ Maybe...maybe this will work… _

When he came to, he was alone. The last of the afternoon sun was coming through the window, and Lor’themar groaned as he forced himself up off the floor. He was an awful mess, and began to stagger towards his personal bath when there was a knock at his chamber door. 

Cursing inside, he called, “Don’t come in! What is it?” 

“Lord Regent, we will be beginning our evening patrols soon. Will you be joining us?” 

“I’ll make my way to the safe-houses later,” he called back, and the voice was silent. With a sigh, Lor’themar tossed the heap of disgusting clothes in a pile and slipped into the hot bath, scrubbing down quickly. His mind wandered. Where was Rommath? Had he been hiding? Surely he had slept the day away. But where? The guard mentioned nothing of him, of his new accomodations. 

Lor’themar kept up his desperate plea in his line of thinking until the water ran cold and he was forced to emerge and dress. 

When he left the Spire, he had his sword at his side. 

Guards were reporting in by the time he had come to the first safe-house. They happily informed him that every citizen who still lived in Eversong, had checked-in with them. A few of them were staying with friends or family in other capitals, until this nightmare had ended. And with no one being the victim (well, other than his two best friends…) for the past two nights, the vampire surely would be more reckless and be taking more risks. They would catch him, either tonight or the next night. 

He had to find Rommath. 

Declining an armed escort, Lor’themar set out by himself. He went from safe-house to safe-house, circling around the city between the four major points. As the night wore on though, he drifted, moving outwards, his heart sinking as he found no sign of his lover. 

“Rommath...where are you…?” 

His next stop-in at a smaller safe-house was greeted with frantic bustle. Someone had gone outside to get fresh air for a moment and hadn’t returned yet. Without waiting for back-up, Lor’themar began to hurry up the street, turning his head down every shadowed alleyway, praying he would not find what he knew was waiting for him. 

Rommath had lured the young woman not too far away. She was still following him like a marionette. Lor’themar rounded the corner and stood there, watching sadly for a moment. 

“Rommath.” 

His lover jerked upright, his calm demeanor replaced with one of panic. The young woman stumbled, then did a double-take. “Grand Magister?” 

“Go. Get back to the safe-house.  _ Now _ ,” he ordered her. “Don’t look back. GO!” 

She didn’t wait for another command. Lor’themar stepped to the side as she took off, then looked back at Rommath, who was leaning against the stone wall, watching him with defeated eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to, I…” 

“I know.” Lor’themar took a step forward, and then another, and then another. He put his hands on Rommath’s shoulders. “Come back with me. Come back to the Spire. Please. We can make this work. I promise we can.” 

“It hurts.” Rommath said in a small voice, sounding so unlike himself Lor’themar had to wonder if he’d truly lost himself. “It hurts  _ so much _ , my love.” 

Both of them were in tears, but it was Lor’themar who was pleading more. “I promise, I promise all will be forgiven, we’ll do— I’ll do whatever we need, we’ll get you fresh blood every day, I’ll give you my own, but in more controlled, I don’t know…” 

“Perhaps put me in a cage? I think not.” Rommath snorted through his tears. “What good am I to that, if I can’t even control myself? What if I let my magic out of control, not just this, but in fire and arcana? No.” 

“I don’t want— I couldn’t. I can’t do it.” He sagged, resting his forehead on Rommath’s shoulder. The Grand Magister’s grip on his shoulders tightened, hugging him close. “Light forgive me, I can’t do it.” 

“Can’t get it up for your lover? So selfish, even at the end.” Rommath’s voice shook with fear, still, Lor’themar had to chuckle at his sass. “Fine, if you can’t handle your own sword, I’ll just have to do it for you.” 

“Making dick jokes, even now?” Lor’themar closed his eye as he felt the weight on his hip change. He heard the slide of metal-on-metal, drawing it from its hilt. “Such class, Grand Magister. What will I tell your students?” 

“Tell them a hero should always die with a sword in his hand. Or a wand. Or a staff. Or a—” 

“For the Light’s sake, Rommath, don’t make me hate you in our final moments.” 

“I can still make you laugh, though. Open your damned eye.” 

How could he not? He drew back, and Rommath caught him and kissed him. They kissed and kissed, as long as they could. Lor’themar held him, feeling the blade in Rommath’s hand resting against his back. 

“If I can keep you alive with kisses long enough—” 

“Stop.” Rommath rested a finger on Lor’themar’s lips, no longer trembling. He was resolute, serious, calm at last. “We would never forgive ourselves for not ending it when it should have been ended.” 

“I wanted to memorize how it felt to hold you in my arms,” Lor’themar replied, and Rommath, despite himself, almost collapsed. 

“I wish you hadn’t said that.” He glared, half-heartedly, but he was smiling. Frowning, he blinked, then paused, and passed a little sachet into Lor’themar’s hand. “Immolation powder. For when it’s over. As soon as it’s out of the bag, it will burn anything it touches, so you’d best move quickly.” 

“I love you.” 

There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other. 

“I love you, too,” Rommath said, and then he raised Lor’themar’s sword. 

In a moment of shameful weakness, he turned. He turned, and looked up at the sky. 

He did not hear Rommath fall, only the clatter of the sword on the pavement. 

Lor’themar wept. 


	5. undead, undead, undead

His walk back to the Spire was silent and alone. Lor’themar had not stayed to watch Rommath’s body burn, though the smell of burning flesh lingered in his nostrils. He scrubbed down and collapsed into bed, though sleep did not come until dawn.

He rose before sunset, grabbing what food he could before meeting up with the captains of the guards. Questions were asked about Rommath, about Halduron, but he brushed them off. Answers, and confronting those truths, could wait until after this nightmare was over. With no other victims, surely it would be over soon?

He did not patrol alone. Could not bear to be alone. Lor’themar circled the city with large groups, listening to the hopeful, positive banter and praying in his head.

_By the Sunwell, they would be safe._

_By the Sunwell…_

Lor’themar stopped so abruptly that the man behind him crunched against his back and stammered a quick apology, but the Regent Lord just brushed him off.

“Commander.” He turned to the highest ranking officer. “The Isle of Quel’Danas. Has anyone been checking there?”

“Well, no,” the paladin replied, shaking her head. “It’s been fairly unmanned as of late. Come to think of it, I don’t remember Lady Liadrin sending any patrols there at all in the past month.”

“He must be there. He’s hiding out. There are minimal guards at night, too few to pick from without someone immediately noticing.” Lor’themar’s grip on his sword tightened. “We need to go there. _Now_.”

They bustled back to the safe house to drop off all the civilians and called in the other patrols. They would stand guard while Lor’themar took the strongest soldiers to the Sunwell and hunted down the monster, or find what was left of him. By moonlight they slipped through the portals and began to comb the island. Some started at the beach and went inwards, but Lor’themar went straight for the Plateau and began to walk the halls himself, sword drawn, not waiting for backup. They didn’t have enough to go around, anyway, and he wasn’t quite thinking straight.

His head was on fire. All he could think about were the deaths of his two best friends in all the world. He could feel the power of the Sunwell as he approached, the only sound the echo of his feet on the marble floor. Gossamer violet curtains parted as he slipped down into the main chamber, letting out the breath he was unaware he’d been holding as he sighted it.

Purified, humming, and welcoming, the Sunwell rested calmly in the centre of the chamber. As Lor’themar approached, he knelt down beside it for a moment, letting his palm rest on the very edge of the lip. Prayer wasn’t something he discussed a lot, nor was it something that came easily to him, but he did so now, letting his friends’ names fall from his lips into the depths of the powerful font, begging for the safety of the living and peace for the dead.

Footsteps approached on the far side of the Sunwell, and he raised his head. The words that floated above the golden pool were thin, reedy, high-pitched and cold.

And horrifyingly familiar.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, old friend.” Kael’thas Sunstrider, or rather what was left of him, eyed him calmly. His voice was thick with dirt and blood. “I was surprised to find someone like you had continued to rule in my stead, considering your love of the hunt. That time, you were the best choice for politics, and they have laid waste to you. Look at you, half the man you used to be, and less than half of the potential you might ever reach. And now, here you are, like a frightened child, before an ancient and powerful evil. In the end, magic is the ruin of us all, isn’t it? How pitiful that it reduces us to animals this way. I know my end is coming soon, either by your hand or by my own hunger. But if you plan to kill me, come then! I will give you one last fight that you will never forget!”

Kael lunged for him, somehow flying across the surface of the sunwell without a mount - perhaps on his own power, perhaps foisted by his vampiric nature. Lor’themar had already drawn his sword and the two of them clashed. Kael’thas was hissing and spitting like a cat, and it took a lot to fight him off. He was almost immediately in too close a range for his sword, so Lor’themar was forced to bash at him with the hilt, trying to shove him away. He was worried about what would happen if he dropped his weapon so he kept it in his hand, trying not to let go as he fought back against the drooling, spitting cobra-like vampire in his face.

Kael’thas was trying to get to his neck. They were stumbling around on the floor, Lor’themar yelling at the top of his lungs and hoping the others could hear him, but knowing that unless they were within the chamber, it would be useless. No one would find them like this. It was up to him to end it.

“Your time is over!” Lor’themar managed to hurl Kael’thas off of him with a sudden shove, and staggered back a few steps, raising his sword and keeping it between them.

“And you intend to do it now? With that?” Kael’thas snorted at him. “No sword will ever be able to kill me. I am still powerful, even like this, and _I will come back again_!”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure there’s nothing to come back!” Lor’themar charged at him, aiming to run him through, but his foot slipped on a pool of blood that was clotting on the floor, and his legs went out from under him.

Before the back of his head hit the flagstones, Kael’thas was already on top of him, grinning from ear to ear like a hungry shark, and then he was out cold.

Lor’themar slowly regained consciousness. _Everything_ hurt, but he seemed to be in one piece. Slowly, he opened his eye, staring up at the ceiling. It was different from before. He had been moved to a different chamber.

With a sickening feeling pooling in his stomach, he reached a hand up to his mouth and licked his lips. Just as surely as he’d feared, he’d been changed. It wasn’t as dramatic as Kael’thas’ mouth, for certain, but did feel the way that Rommath’s and Hauldron’s had looked.

“This is it, then.” he sat up, forcing himself to move. Every muscle in his body screamed, and he spat out the little remaining blood in his mouth, looking around for his sword. Surprisingly, it was nearby, along with most of his armour. He’d been stripped down to his leathers, presumably for easy access to his throat and to make him easier to carry.

Kael’thas, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. He didn’t bother with his armour, just picked up his sword and tucked it in the back of his belt. Before he made any final judgments on himself, he had to put an end to the madness and cut off the evil at its source. He walked the halls of the Plateau in swift silence, ignoring the hunger beginning to gnaw in his belly. At least, he thought to himself, there was no sign of anyone else having come. No more food for the beast.

At last, he spotted Kael in a chamber off the main path, lounging on a low couch. He appeared to be half-dozing, relaxing, as he lay there, one hand idly rubbing over his stomach. Bloated as he was on Lor’themar’s blood, he looked over with a grin when he heard the other elf enter. His face and chest were a mess of sticky red, like the makeup of a cheap whore.

“Isn’t the world beautiful like this?” Kael stretched, and Lor’themar realized that without his scabbard, he looked like he wasn’t carrying any weapons.

“Yes, it is.” Lor’themar casually walked closer, trying to hide how badly he was shaking - anticipation, anguish, fear, fury, and hunger. “But then again, it always was.”

“Soon enough, you won’t even miss the sunrise anymore.” Kael’thas promised, and as he lazily began to stretch and move to get up, Lor’themar snaked a hand behind his back and faster than Kael could blink, he had sliced through the vampire’s neck.

The cut was so clean that Kael’thas continued to stare at him for a moment before his eyes glazed over and the weight of his hair made his head tumble off his shoulders. The rest of his body sagged in on itself, and Lor’themar took a step back to avoid being hit by the spray of blood, though he no longer feared it.

“No, I won’t miss the sunrise anymore.” Lor’themar quipped as he dropped his sword and put his hands under the corpse’s arms, dragging what was left of the vampire out onto the balcony, then went back in for the head. Impaling it like a spike on the end of his sword, he set it beside him, then slid down to sit with his back to the railing, facing out over the eastern sea.

The sky was already beginning to lighten, and Lor’themar closed his good eye, and smiled.

There would be peace in the land of Quel’thelas once more. He had done his duty, and his people were free of the long nightmare that had plagued them.

A sudden thought hit him and he jerked forward, opening his eye and frantically looking over the balcony edge, but there was no one else around. He spotted movement in the distance, a patrol picking over some empty boats in the harbour, but there was no one close by, yet. His throat ached, and he almost opened his mouth to call out to them, but...it would do no good. Living like this meant nothing without Halduron, without Rommath.

“I will see one last sunrise,” Lor’themar murmured out loud to himself, and instead of sitting, rose to his feet, bracing himself on the balcony. He put his hands on the railing, then looked up across the open waters once more. He watched as blue became pink became orange became gold, and then the dawn came for him.


End file.
